Hugo | Page 5

but the chiefs of departments had the right to address him as he passed;
such was the rule. He deviated into the counting-house, where two
hundred typewriters made their music, and into the annexe containing

the stables and coach-houses, where scores of vans and automobiles,
and those elegant coupés gratuitously provided by Hugo for the use of
important clients, were continually arriving and leaving. Then he
returned to the purchasing multitudes, and plunged therein as into a sea.
At intervals a customer, recognising him, would nudge a friend, and
point eagerly.
'That's Hugo. See him, in the gray suit?'
'What? That chap?'
And they would both probably remark at lunch: 'I saw Hugo himself
to-day at Hugo's.'
He took an oath in his secret heart that he would not go near
Department 42, the only department which had the slightest interest for
him. He knew that he could not be too discreet. And yet eventually,
without knowing how or why, he perceived of a sudden that his legs
carried him thither. He stopped, at a loss what to do, and then, by the
direct interposition of kindly Fate, a manager spoke to him.... He gazed
out of the corner of his eye. Yes, she was there. He could see her
through a half-drawn portière in one of the trying-on rooms. She was
sitting limp on a chair, overcome by the tropic warmth of Sloane Street,
with her noble head thrown back, her fine eyes half shut, and her
beautiful hands lying slackly on her black apron.
What an impeachment of civilization that a creature so fair and so
divine should be forced to such a martyrdom! He desired ardently to
run to her and to set her free for the day, for the whole summer, and on
full wages. He wondered if he could trust the manager with instructions
to alleviate her lot.... The next instant she sprang up, giving the
indispensable smile of welcome to some customer who had evidently
entered the trying-on room from the other side. The phenomenon
distressed him. She disappeared from view behind the portière, and
reappeared, but only for a moment, talking to a foppish old man with a
white moustache. It was Senior Polycarp, the lawyer.
Hugo flushed, and, abandoning the manager in the middle of a sentence,

fled to his central office. He had no confidence in his self-command....
Could this be jealousy? Was it possible that he, Hugo, should be so far
gone? Nay!
But what was Polycarp, that old and desiccated widower, doing in the
millinery department?
He said he must form some definite plan, and begin by giving her a
private room.
CHAPTER III
HUGO EXPLAINS HIMSELF
'And what,' asked Hugo, smiling faintly at Mr. Senior Polycarp--'what
is your client's idea of price?'
For half an hour they had been talking in the luxurious calm of Hugo's
central office, which was like an island refuge in the middle of that
tossing ocean of business. It overlooked the court of fountains from the
second story, and the highest jet of water threw a few jewelled drops to
the level of its windows.
Mr. Polycarp stroked his beautiful white moustache.
'We would give,' he said in his mincing, passionless voice, 'the cost
price of premises, stock, and fixtures, and for goodwill seven times
your net annual profits. In addition, we should be anxious to secure
your services as managing director for ten years at five thousand a year,
plus a percentage of profits.'
'Hum!'
'And, of course, if you wished part of the purchase-money in shares--'
'Have you formed any sort of estimate of my annual profits?' Hugo
demanded.

'Yes--a sort of estimate.'
'You have looked carefully round, eh?'
'My clients have. I myself, too, a little. This morning, for example.
Very healthy, Mr. Hugo.'
'What departments did you visit this morning? Each has its busy days.'
'Grocery, electrical, and--let me see--yes, furniture.'
'Not a good day for that--too hot! Anything else?'
'No,' said Mr. Polycarp.
'Ah!... Well, and what is your clients' estimate?'
'Naturally, I cannot pretend--'
'Listen, Mr. Polycarp,' said Hugo, interrupting: 'I will be open with
you.'
The lawyer nodded, appreciatively benign. As usual, he kept his
thoughts to himself, but he had the air of adding Hugo to the vast
collection of human curiosities which he had made during a prolonged
professional career.
'My net trading profits last year were £106,000. You are surprised?'
'Somewhat.'
'You expected a higher figure?'
'We did.'
'I knew it. And the figure might be higher if I chose. Only I do things in
rather a royal way, you see. I pay my staff five hundred a week more
than I need. And I allow myself to be cheated.' He laughed suddenly.
'Costume department, for instance. I send charming costumes out on

approval, and fetch them